


Practice Makes Perfect

by Bianca MarOu (glazedmacguffin)



Category: Andromeda
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:30:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glazedmacguffin/pseuds/Bianca%20MarOu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another drabble.  Just an insight into one of Rhade's assignments in Argosy special ops, before meeting Dylan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Done as a prompt for an RP community (Practice makes Perfect), but works on its own.

>   
> This is assignment number 31.   
> 

Rhade turned in his chair and his dress tunic to face the viewscreen as it came on. Ambassador Trellig smiled his too friendly grin at him, wide nose, mustache that seemed to erupt out of it, and unpleasant features a direct contradiction to the irritatingly perfect teeth below it. "Andalus!" He said warmly. "I'm going to need you in my office."

"Yes sir," Rhade responded, picking up a flexi from his desk. He checked the date to make sure. Double checked the orders. Alive was unnecessary, and alive would be difficult given the number of guards and resistance that he would meet.

>   
> You will be Horatio Andalus.   
> 

He stood up, Admiral Stark's orders still ringing in his head. He knew what was coming, felt the blood throbbing through his veins so loudly that he could hear it. The idea of completing the mission _pleasurable_ in an almost obscene way. The force lance was heavy in its holster, comforting by his hip.

The door opened with it's typical _whoosh_ and he started off down the hall towards the Ambassador's office. The shined, decorated boots given to him to maintain the appearance of a Jaguar pride attache clicking along the floor.

>   
>  No one at the embassy is to know any differently. We will give you a blood-graft from one of our top gene smiths. It will last for two weeks. If they run a check of your DNA, it will confirm you are who you say you are.   
> 

The route between his office and Trellig's wasn't a direct path. He wasn't stopped by anyone, however. This was part of his plan. For his time there, he'd quickly reinforced that when he had so much as a package to deliver, no one was to interfere with him. It had become a joke already. The normal humans laughed about it over their warm morning drinks, ignorant of the fact that his hearing was keen and his temper was fierce. He was eager to make them all look like the blind, accepting fools that they were.

>   
> You are to retrieve Ambassador Trellig and bring him before the Commonwealth. He is protecting the leaders of his planet from facing consequences for their collaboration in war crimes. He also took part in them as a former General, and we want to hold him accountable.   
> 

Rhade breezed past the guards, not even receiving a blink or a second glance. Neither noting that even before he had reached Trellig's door, he was pulling his weapon to rest in his hand. The adrenaline was beginning to thrill, even if his face remained impassive. Another breeze of air, the sliding door was open, and he was inside of Trellig's office. The door closed again.

The Ambassador turned in his chair, the Inari lines on his face accentuating everything already unlikable about the visage. He saw what Rhade was holding though, just as it was being aimed at him, and he frowned and started to reach for _something_. It might have been a gun, or a button to alert the guards that Rhade had just passed.

>   
>  A trial would be preferable but if you're unable to bring him before the court, confirmation of his death will be suitable. His role in diplomacy can't protect him from what he's done in his past. Some things are unforgivable.   
> 

And this moment, this moment made it worth agreeing to Admiral Stark's orders. Watching Trellig's body jar and jolt as his fired. Then he uselessly fell to the floor before his hand made it anywhere near where it was going to go. His target's dead eyes stared up at the ceiling, an empty, vacant gaze, and Rhade quickly leaned over him to press a thick sensor needle deep into his chest and take that confirmation sample.

The guards hadn't heard, and he would be out and long gone on a retrieval vessel long before their concerns would remotely rise. This was his thirty-first assignment. By this point, he practically had this perfect.


End file.
